


Autophobia

by holls



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holls/pseuds/holls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is tired, but he can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autophobia

Sherlock lay on the couch, his knees curled up against him, eyes scanning the material and picking up the little imperfections barely visible in the dim light that spilled in from the street. He'd been there for almost an hour now, trying to wrestle his brain into submission for just enough time to slip into sleep, but it seemed hopeless. Eyeing the little balls of lint, or the loose threads, or the tiny stains from drops of spilled tea were hardly exciting enough to keep him awake, but it seemed as soon as he made any effort to relax, an odd twist in his stomach would force his eyes open again. Then, in boredom, he would begin to count everything all over again. 

The number, positions, and shapes didn't change, and neither did the feeling. It was worse here than it had been in bed. The unmistakable feeling of something being wrong.

Getting up, Sherlock wrapped his robe around himself, crossing his arms over his chest as he wandered into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Dishes were there from dinner, still dirty, but John had put the leftovers away. Nothing was left on, the stove had been turned off hours ago and had long cooled down, the fridge containing his most current project hummed away in the corner, doors closed to keep both the curried pork and the amputated foot cold. None of the sockets were sparking, and even if one began to, the light in the smoke detector above him confirmed that John had actually put a battery in it. Though, now that he stood in the kitchen, he realized he didn't want the cup of tea as much as he thought. His head was aching from a lack of sleep, and he doubted the amount of caffeine would be enough to stop the pounding against his skull. He had to get some sleep.

Moving through the living room, he headed for the chair, though not before looking out the window, searching for something, anything, interesting enough to keep him awake. There wasn't so much as a mouse out on the street, though Sherlock's fingers still poked at the lock anyway before heading for the chair, curling up inside of it and crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't like this, it was maddening, and even worse, he felt too tired to actually figure out what was wrong. It was moments like this that he remembered he was human, it wasn't a thought he particularly enjoyed. Knowing he could accomplish so much more if it wasn't for these stupid physical needs was one of the greatest annoyances of his existence. 

Sherlock was up on his feet again, pacing this time, his head throbbing painfully with the increased effort of moving around. His hands went up to his hair, threading though and pulling the messy dark threads between his clenched fingers. The tiny flares of pain gave him a little more clarity, though it didn't much help his headache. Pausing mid stride, he closed his eyes, searching inside of his own mind rather than the apartment around him. He'd covered every inch of this damn place in the last few hours and he'd come up blank, only succeeding in making his headache move from irritating to agonizing. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, but that was a lie, wasn't it? If that's all he'd wanted, he'd be fast asleep in bed right now instead of standing in the dark alone and aggravated.

His eyes popped open, tension immediately lifting from his head, though the knot in his stomach tightened. Standing still, he mused it over for a second before deciding there was no sense analyzing what he seemed to need so much. Not while he was this tired, anyway. 

Walking upstairs, his hand didn't hesitate for a second on the handle, turning it and pushing the door inwards into the dark of John's room. He could hear him snoring softly, asleep and unaware of the intruder in his midst. Slipping off his robe, Sherlock wandered to the opposite side of the bed, climbing under the covers and settling against the pillow as John began to stir beside him.

"What the...Sherlock...?" John's hand fumbled over for his lamp, closing instead on his phone. By the dim light of the screen, he could see his friend lying on his side next to him, staring up at him. "Why are you in my bed?"

"I need to be," Sherlock replied curtly. "Turn that off, I have a headache." 

"W-what...need to be...?" John stammered, not setting the phone down. "You have your own bed, you kn-"

His eyes adjusting to the light finally, John got a good look at Sherlock's face, and he was honestly shocked at what he saw there. Those pale eyes held vulnerability, beyond having a headache or being tired, almost pleading John to just accept what was without argument. He did need to be there, though John wasn't necessarily sure that he wanted to be. He could swear there was confusion in those blue eyes too. 

"Fine," John said, setting his phone face down, sliding back down onto his pillow. "I hope you don't snore..."

He only got a little grunt in response, though he didn't expect much else. With a little sigh, John pulled the blankets up, ready to settle back into sleep when the figure next to him moved closer. Without thinking, he reached over, wrapping his arm over the small of Sherlock's back, drawing him against his own body. Though the touch made Sherlock stiffen for a moment, he quickly relaxed, resting back against John. 

"Good night, Sherlock," John said softly into the darkness.

There was a pause.

"Good night, John," came Sherlock's response a moment later. "Thank you."

Though it only took a few minutes for Sherlock to drift into sleep, John found himself laying awake long after, listening to the sound of his friend breathing. He wasn't entirely sure what it was that brought Sherlock up here, but he wasn't about to complain about it.


End file.
